


What's Step Two?

by SpaceAceKaiju



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, M/M, Possibly Unrequited Love, Rated for Swears, Unrequited Love, but its fine nothing bad happens, gay angel therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2019-06-23
Packaged: 2020-05-16 21:59:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19326907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpaceAceKaiju/pseuds/SpaceAceKaiju
Summary: After the Apocawasn't, Hell seemed content to leave well enough alone when it came to Crowley. Well, almost all of Hell.





	What's Step Two?

**Author's Note:**

> the title comes from my girlfriend repeatedly yelling "hey buddy? what's step two??" while i was explaining the plot to her. she is a treasure.
> 
> anyway rounding out background characters/antagonists is my jam and everyone in this show is gay so??? here we are. hope you enjoy.

            Hastur quietly considered the numerous sharp implements before him with the care of a surgeon and the excitement of a small boy. It hadn’t been too difficult to find a quiet corner of Hell to commandeer for a while; the desires of a Duke rarely brought questions, fortunately. He gently selected a very old set of thumbscrews, turning to face his captive with a wicked grin.

            He had started monitoring the pair about a month after the failed apocalypse. He was still shaken up by the preceding events, which annoyed him immensely, and he found stalking Crowley and the angel gave him an outlet to channel his frustration. It wasn’t fair that the snake got off scot free, left alone to live on that stupid planet doing whatever he wanted. He’d ruined everything Hell had been working for by convincing the Antichrist to put everything back the way it was before.

            Almost everything, anyway. The kid had made an oversight, an admittedly small one in the grand scheme of the War, but one that Hastur could not accept. So he bided his time, watching and planning. And when he was ready, he went to Earth.

            Aziraphale, for his credit, had remained quite calm despite being tied to a chair in Hell. He stayed deathly still as Hastur regarded him, twirling the implement around his fingers.

            “So.” He said primly. “You have me quite efficiently trapped. What happens now?” Hastur chuckled, slinking closer to the angel.

            “Gonna play with you a bit.” He said, running his fingers along Aziraphale’s face. “Never tortured an angel before.” Aziraphale grimaced, leaning away from the touch.

            “Er, yes, I gathered.” He continued. “But then what? Crowley will come for me, you know.” Hastur scoffed.

            “Fuckin’ obviously. That’s the point.” He gestured at the angel with the thumbscrew. “I mess you up, he comes, an’ I get revenge. Easy stuff.” Aziraphale furrowed his brow, sitting back in the chair.

            “Right,” he said gently, “but what comes between that?” Hastur frowned.

            “What?”

            “What comes between Crowley coming and the revenge?” Aziraphale elaborated. “How are you going to do that?”

            “Look, wank-wings,” Hastur growled, “it’s a three step plan. Take his angel, done. Wait for the snake. Take revenge. It ain’t that fuckin’ complicated.”

            “I understand,” Aziraphale said gently, “but I’m asking what the revenge is, exactly.”

            “I’m gonna kill you, you absolute twat!” Hastur roared, slamming his hands on the arms of the chair. “I’m gonna make him watch me kill you, then he’s gotta go the rest of eternity without his-“ He cut himself off, searching for the right word. “Without you.” He grumbled, pulling away. “See how he feels.”

            “Ah. I see.” The angel said faintly. “But, um, how are you going to do that?” Hastur froze in place at the question. He shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant.

            “Don’t matter. Just gonna do it, ain’t important how.”

            “Yes, but-“

            “Will you shut up?” Hastur snapped, rounding on Aziraphale with a scowl. “It don’t matter how I’m gonna kill you, stop askin’ questions!” He stalked back over to the table, no longer satisfied starting with the thumbscrews. The angel fell quiet as he sorted through the devices, muttering to himself. The question wouldn’t leave his mind, needling at him like an Iron Maiden. His eyes drew to the several demonic implements he’d brought to finish the angel off, looking them over with a newfound suspicion. Heaven had said Aziraphale was immune to hellfire, so he’d opted for weaponry instead. 

             It only occurred to him in that moment that most demonic weapons were forged in hellfire.

            “FUCK!” Hastur screamed, swiping the tools off the table. He seethed as they clattered to the ground, his body shaking with rage. “It’s not fair.” He seethed. “It’s not fucking fair!” He slammed his hands down on the table, still trembling with adrenaline and hate. The room was quiet save for his ragged breathing, until the angel’s gentle voice broke the silence.

            “This is about your friend, isn’t it?” Hastur slowly turned to look at Aziraphale, who was regarding him with a softness he didn’t understand.

            “What’s it to you?” He grumbled.

            “It’s just, I understand where you’re coming from.” Aziraphale said carefully. Hastur snorted.

            “You don’t know a goddamn thing about what I went through. Blessed world didn’t end, nothin’ changed.”

            “Crowley thought I was dead when my bookshop caught fire. At the airfield we weren’t sure if we’d make it out alive. I know what it’s like to almost lose someone.” Hastur snarled, stalking back over to the angel and grabbing him by the collar.

            “Almost.” He hissed. “You almost lost someone. Antichrist stopped everything, put it all back the way it was, just how you wanted it. But he didn’t put back my-“ He swallowed, his grip loosening a bit on Aziraphale’s collar. “He didn’t bring Ligur back.” He spat. The angel watched his face quietly for a moment.

            “I’m sorry.” Hastur glanced back to him, confused. “I’m so sorry you’re going through this.” Aziraphale said. The demon let go of him and stepped back, a bit put off by the sincerity.

            “I don’t need yer pity.” He grumbled, but Aziraphale shook his head.

            “No, it’s not that. It’s just… he meant a lot to you, didn’t he?” Hastur’s breath caught in his throat, the bubbling cocktail of emotions regarding his former lurking buddy boiling beneath his skin. He sighed heavily, turning away from the angel.

            “It ain’t about that,” he said, “it’s about justice. It ain’t right that everythin’ else got to come back and he didn’t.”

            “But you do care about him.” Aziraphale prodded gently.

            “Demons don’t go caring about anythin’, much less each other.” Hastur growled. “Ain’t proper.”

            “They don’t really go caring about angels either, though.” Aziraphale countered.

            “You sayin’ I’m like Crowley?” Hastur snapped. “A blessed traitor?”

            “No, no, not at all!” Aziraphale assured. “I meant that, well, from your view sticking to one’s side is very important. Demons and angels consorting isn’t proper, traditionally, so it’s definitely much worse than two demons being close.” Hastur stared at him in silence, the wheels slowly turning in his head.

            “Yer sayin’,” he said carefully, “that two demons bein’ close an’ everythin’ is more acceptable than what you got goin’ on with Crowley.”

            “In the eyes of Hell, yes.” Aziraphale conceded. “If that’s what you were worried about.” He shifted in his chair slightly, looking off to the side. “The biggest reason I wasn’t honest with Crowley about how I felt was that same fear. I was scared of what Heaven, or Hell, would do to us if we were discovered. That and, well,” He limply gestured to himself, “I could understand why Crowley wouldn’t feel the same.” Hastur furrowed his brow and stared at Aziraphale quietly for a moment. He pulled a chair from nowhere and sat down in front of the angel. He gestured vaguely at him, and Aziraphale raised an eyebrow.

            “Keep talkin’.” Hastur demanded. “About you and Crowley.” Aziraphale blinked in surprise.

            “Oh. Well, alright.” He agreed. “Erm, in what respect, exactly?”

            “Bein’ a coward an’ not bein’ good enough.” Hastur replied bluntly. The angel huffed a bit at that but let it go.

            “I just mean that it’s very easy to fabricate how others feel about you, when you aren’t honest with them.” Hastur fell quiet, staring at the floor for several minutes. Aziraphale stayed silent, waiting for the Duke to formulate his thoughts.

            “We always had it good, me an’ Ligur.” Hastur finally said. “Lurkin’, menacin’, eatin’ live animals. He loved ducks, Ligur did.” Aziraphale nodded, ignoring the mental image. “Demons don’t…” Hastur sighed, frustrated. “I dunno what I felt. Feel. Whatever. It’s all jumbled and burnin’ and won’t go away.”

            “You’re grieving,” Aziraphale explained, “you miss him.”           

            “When does it stop?” Hastur croaked, his voice broken and wet.

            “I don’t know.” Aziraphale said. “It’s different for everyone. It might never go away completely, but that’s not a bad thing.” Hastur sucked in a heavy breath.

            “This is stupid.” He mumbled. “Talkin’ to a bloody angel about my feelings.”

            “It’s not stupid.”

            “It don’t even matter now, what I feel.” Hastur insisted. “Ligur’s gone. I’m never gonna see him again.” He fell silent, his shoulders shaking with excess energy.

            “Why don’t you tell me about him?” Aziraphale suggested gently. Hastur gave him a confused look. “It might help, to talk about it.” Hastur was quiet for a moment.

            “Yeah, alright.”

 

* * *

 

            Crowley barreled through hell like a madman, brandishing the Bentley’s tire iron and his plant mister like mystic weapons of old. The few demons he encountered fled upon sight, not eager to get in his way. Before long he’d reached one of Hell’s deeper pits, sensing Aziraphale’s presence behind one of the doors. He kicked it in, hard enough to leave a dent, stalking in with a snarl.

            “Hastur! Let him go or-“ he stopped mid stride, struck dumb by what he saw. Aziraphale and Hastur were sitting on a couch together, Hastur speaking animatedly over a cup of tea while the angel listened with a smile.

            “-an’ then Murky, that’s his chameleon, snapped his tongue out and took the blessed pouch right out his hands!” He laughed. “Fucker didn’t know what hit him.” Aziraphale chuckled politely before spotting Crowley standing flabbergasted in the doorway.

            “Oh! Hello dear boy.” He said with a smile. “I do hope you didn’t run into trouble on your way here.” Crowley just gaped at the two before gesturing to Hastur with the tire iron.

            “What. In the nine circles. Is happening.” He asked.

            “Hastur and I were just chatting about past misadventures.” Aziraphale explained breezily. “He was just telling me about a particularly exciting diamond heist he and Ligur performed. Isn’t that right?” Hastur nodded, giving Crowley the side eye.

            “But why?” Crowley exclaimed. “He fucking kidnapped you! Dragged you to Hell!” Aziraphale nodded.

            “He did, yes. But then we got to talking about the whole affair, and found where this anger was really coming from. Speaking of.” Aziraphale set down his cup and stood, brushing himself off. “I believe some apologies are in order, hmm?” He looked to Hastur, who shuffled a bit before setting down his cup as well.

            “Sorry.” He grumbled without looking at Crowley, who just stared at him. Aziraphale coughed and Hastur sighed. “’M sorry for kidnappin’ yer angel. An’ tryin’ to kill you several times.” Crowley didn’t say anything for a moment before looking at Aziraphale.

            “What did you do to him?” Aziraphale’s ears turned red and he puffed up, insulted.

            “Not a thing! We just talked about the process of grief and dealing with it in constructive ways. Now, please apologize to Hastur.”

            “You want me to what?!?” Crowley shouted. “He tried to kill us both! Me more than once! He just said so!!”

            “I’m fully aware.”

            “And it was self-defense!” Aziraphale grimaced.

            “Yes, I know. Hastur also understands this, right?” Hastur nodded sullenly. “But this is more of a “sorry for your loss” apology, if that’s alright.” Crowley gaped and made an incomprehensible series of noises with his mouth. Aziraphale sighed and took him off to the side.

            “What the fuck is going on, angel?” Crowley asked, exasperated.

            “Adam didn’t bring Ligur back, as you’re aware,” Aziraphale explained, “and it appears Hastur was in a very similar boat to our own.” Crowley looked from Hastur to Aziraphale and back to Hastur again, flabbergasted.

            “You’re kidding.” He said quietly. Aziraphale shook his head.

            “I’m afraid this is more than demonic justice, Crowley.” He said gently. “I’m not asking you to forgive each other or be on good terms of any sort, but the man needs closure.” Crowley sighed, running a hand through his hair.

            “Fine! Fine. But he can’t pull this shit again.” Crowley stalked over to Hastur, fixing the other demon with a frustrated stare. He cleared his throat, shifting awkwardly on his feet. “I’m sorry.” He blurted out. “About Ligur. Didn’t know it was like that.” Hastur shrugged.

            “Thanks.” He mumbled. “An’ nobody did. It’s fine.” He stood with a heavy sigh. “You two oughta get outta here.” He said. “Nobody else knows yer here, but better Beelzebub don’t find out.” Crowley nodded, turning to Aziraphale. The angel looked pensive. “I’m not gonna bother you anymore, alright?” Hastur spat. “Just go.”

            “Come on, angel.” Crowley said softly, taking Aziraphale by the hand and leading him out the door. Aziraphale looked back before the door swung shut, unable to place why Hastur’s tired stance made his stomach turn.

            It wasn’t until they were safely in the Bentley that the words finally came to him.

            “That could have been us.” He murmured, soft enough the engine almost drowned him out. Crowley glanced over, his brows knit with concern.

            “What do you mean?”

            “We cut it very close my dear.” Aziraphale explained. “When you thought I was gone, didn’t you feel something similar?” Crowley returned his eyes to the road with a frown. He nodded after a moment or two. “I felt the same when I was in Heaven.” Aziraphale confessed. “There was so much I wanted to say, and I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to.” The two fell into silence, letting “These Are The Days Of Our Lives,” fill the air between them.

            “It’s not gonna be like that anymore.” Crowley said firmly. “Not with nobody stopping us.”

            “Especially ourselves.” Aziraphale sighed. Crowley reached over and tangled his hand with the angel’s.

            “We’re alright now, angel.” He said gently. “That’s the most important part.” Aziraphale smiled, rubbing his thumb over Crowley’s hand.

            “I suppose you’re right, dear boy.”

 

* * *

 

            The little living space in Hastur’s corner of Hell seemed colder and more constrictive than ever when he returned. Silently he cracked open an old chest and carefully lifted Ligur’s coat from within. He’d taken it as soon as he learned the world reset, distraught to find Ligur himself wasn’t there. Hastur took a seat on the chest, running a thumb reverently along the lapel. He took a shaky breath.

            “Hey Ligur. I know you ain’t here anymore, but we need to talk.”


End file.
